


Honest Man

by bleedingheartshow



Category: Leverage
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 03:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleedingheartshow/pseuds/bleedingheartshow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nate's made a decision, but he's not exactly happy about it.  Eliot's words help him along.  Missing scene from near the end of "The Nigerian Job".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honest Man

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my betas highshelf and nightcamedown for your invaluable advice. Any mistakes remaining are my own. Dialogue lovingly borrowed from the episode.
> 
> Originally posted on 8/16/2009 on my Livejournal.

Nate sat on the edge of the bed in his loft, staring at the glass of amber liquid in his hand. He raised the glass to his lips and took a small sip, savoring the taste of the whiskey as it traveled down to his stomach, filling him with that irresistible warmth.

You look better than when we started.

He was looking better. He felt better. As much as he didn't want to admit it, and especially not to Eliot, he had needed this. To be back in the game. Not for revenge purposes. Not entirely, anyway. It gave him something to do. Something else to take his mind off the mess he’d made of his life.

Nate’s eyes darkened as a wave of anger threatened to take over, as it often did these days. He had been stupid, thinking that people wouldn't know about what happened to his son. About the most painful and private experience of his life. 

A guy like you goes off the street, a lot of people notice. And it was a bad story, too.

A series of images flashed before him: Nate pleading to his boss, citing the numerous examples of how the so-called “experimental” treatment had saved lives. His son, lying listless on the hospital bed, fighting for his life as Nate stood helpless by the door. Holding his wife at the funeral as they lowered the small coffin into the ground. He remembers thinking how wrong it seemed, that they would even make coffins that small.

He gripped the glass, knuckles white, and threw it against the wall in front of him. The glass shattered, the remaining whiskey creating a small pool on the floor amongst the broken glass. Fuck it, Nate thought, and picked up the bottle next to him, taking another swig. Eliot had been trying to be helpful, in his own way. Letting Nate know that everyone else thought IYS had screwed him. Maybe he was genuinely sorry. From what he could tell, Eliot seemed like the type of guy who usually meant what he said.

But Eliot wasn't his friend. Nate wasn't like them. He was the “honest man.” The man who was loyal to his company for all those years. The man who’d been oh-so-good at making sure IYS didn't have to pay a dime. The man who’d been shot, had his life threatened. The man who’d swindled innocent people out of their insurance money because it was Good for the Company™. The man who hadn't cheated on his wife. The man who loved his son with everything he had.

Then IYS took that away from him. He chuckled out loud as he recalled the number of times both Dubenich and his team had referred to him as an honest man. That man was nothing but a shell, now, with a trail of empty liquor bottles and self-destruction left in his wake. Nate was not the same person they all thought he was. Hell, he didn't even know who he was anymore. IYS had taken that away from him when they allowed Sam to die.

Nate took another long swig from the whiskey bottle and put it back down on the bed. 

You wanna know what I think? How long before you fall apart again... a guy like you can’t be out of the game, alright? That’s why you were a wreck, you needed the chase.

Nate sighed. He did need the chase. The rush that comes from putting one over on the guy who thinks he’s smarter than you. The type of people who’d use his son as bait. 

As Sophie had said, the bad guys had money, too. Screw the bad guys, help the good guys, do what he does best and maybe, just maybe, figure out what kind of man Nathan Ford was becoming.

Nate slid off the bed and padded barefoot into the kitchen, grabbing a roll of paper towels. He carefully started to pick up the pieces of broken glass, wiping away the mess he’d made. Once he’d put all that in the trash, he wandered into his closet, checking out what was left of his suits. He decided on a classic black pinstripe, along with his red striped shirt and set them out on his bed.

Maybe it was time to start taking it all back. One case at a time.


End file.
